


Oh, Sherlock

by faked_my_death



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Not really Johnlock, i just had to post something because its been a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 08:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12077046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faked_my_death/pseuds/faked_my_death
Summary: The events that follows when Sherlock Holmes disappears from John Watson's wedding.





	Oh, Sherlock

Sherlock stumbled into the flat of 221B Baker Street. He looks around the flat and slowly lowers himself in to his chair. However, it doesn't feel right. He stands up, moves to John's chair and stares at it. He let his fingers reach out and glide across the well-used arm of the chair. Slowly he sits down in it. He closes his eyes and twists his body so he is sideways. Pulling up his knees he wraps his arms around them and lays the side of his face agains the chair. He notes that it smells like John. Moving his head slowly he pushes his nose into it and takes a deep breath. He doesn't know why, or how, John smells like pine and paper. Like an old library. The space in his mind palace, the old library, built only for John smells like that.

Opening his eyes he sees some of the papers used for the wedding planning left thrown on the floor and table. Pushing his eyebrows up and sighing, he realizes that John is truly gone. He had known that things were different, especially when he learned that two would turn into three. He couldn't go through until the end of the night so he had to go home. Go where John was still there through scent. He hears footsteps approach, but because he knows that it isn't John's he closes his eyes. He closes them like he will dissapear. The door creaks open and the light turns on. The person makes his way next to him.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mycroft says to his younger brother. Sherlock opens his eyes and looks up. Unable to say or do anything he just sits there. Mycroft walks around and sits in Sherlock's chair leaning forward. "I'm..... I'm so sorry," he says giving up. He watched his younger brother grow up, crumble, fall, and through it all he had learned to hate him. Now he sees his younger brother again, like when they were kids. Heartbroken, small, and afraid. He takes a deep breath and slides forward landing on his knees. Hesitantly, he reaches out and wraps his arms around his younger brother like he did when he was six and there was a storm outside. Sherlock gasps a little and pauses. Slowly he breaks down and accepts his big brothers arms. He starts crying and he covers his face with his hands.

"I love him and I shouldn't, it's such a disadvantage," Sherlock sobs out. "I tried not to, but he's different. Why is he different?"

"Sherlock," his brother's voice doesn't come out demanding or arrogant. It comes out soft and whispy, like he is hurt too. "You are in love with him. The kind of love that is deep and unstoppable."

"He choose her," Sherlock says with his face still baried in his hands. 

"Wounds can be deep too," Mycroft says. Sherlock cries harder and he closes his eyes as he rest his chin on Sherlock's shoulder.

He remembers every time incidents like this has happened.

At the age of 6 Sherlock was scared of storms. At the age of 13 Sherlock was terrified of upper classmates who bullied him. At the age of 19 Sherlock was affraid of his own mind after his first overdose. At the age of 36 Sherlock had is heart broken by the one person he loved.

He couldn't stop any of the things taunting him and Mycroft hated it.

Slowly Sherlock sobbing became softer and his body stopped shaking. Mycroft knows that he is asleep, but he holds on to his younger brother. He knows that by tomorrow he will be back on drugs. He knows that they will go back to hating each other. He knows that his heart will just be broken. And he hates it.

Slowly pushing him back into the chair he lets go after what seemed like hours. He finds a blanket and covers his brother with it.

"Oh, Sherlock," he thinks, "love is a horrible thing." Mycroft straightens himself up, grabs his umbrella, and marches out of the flat with his head up like nothing happened.

"Love is a disadvantage, Mycroft. Don't lose the game," he thinks before entering the cold, night air.


End file.
